


First Kiss

by Duchess_On_Fire



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Consent King!Gwaine, Cuteness overload, First Kiss, Fluff, Gwaine Is Awesome, M/M, Merlin is adorkable, Now With A Second Chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duchess_On_Fire/pseuds/Duchess_On_Fire
Summary: Merlin’s life, though far from simple, had always been rather straightforward: protect Arthur, put him on the throne,keephim on the throne, bring the beginning of Albion, get magic restored to the land. That was it.And then, Gwaine kissed him.
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 459





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ficlet to get me out of writer's block, and because I feel like Merwaine deserves some love and attention. Hope you enjoy!

Merlin’s life, though far from simple, had always been rather straightforward: protect Arthur, put him on the throne, _keep_ him on the throne, bring the beginning of Albion, get magic restored to the land. That was it.

And then, Gwaine kissed him.

**

It was nothing really.

Just a harsh press of cracked lips against his, a warm and ale-flavored gush of breath against his mouth, and then the hard, overwhelming weight of a drunk Gwaine falling on top of him, two feet away from the bed on which Merlin, good friend that he was, had been attempting to deposit him.

Arthur had a picnic with Gwen planned in the morning, a rare treat for the maid’s birthday, and the knights had wanted to take full advantage of a morning free of training session to go to the tavern and get smashed.

Merlin – who despite what Arthur thought had very little opportunity to spend time at the tavern – had been invited to join in on the improvised bash. He had graciously accepted, though he nursed the same tankard of ale the whole night and bravely fought off Percival’s attempts to get him drunk. Glad as he was to know that the knights of the round table considered him one of them, he was already the butt of their jokes when he was sober and he shuddered at the idea of what they could come up with when he was drunk.

Gwaine, on the other hand, had entered a drinking contest with Elyan, won, then entered another contest with Leon, won again, and then entered another against Lilly the barmaid and lost miserably. Which meant that by the end of the night, while Percival was carrying Elyan on one shoulder and Leon on the other, Merlin had been tasked with getting Gwaine safely back to his room.

Now, he knew this would not be an easy task, what with Gwaine barely standing up, stopping at every corner to make jokes and dry heave, and with him getting distracted by anything from the guards doing their round, to the servants going on their nightly duties, to an alley rat scampering away with a glove between its teeth.

Granted, the glove had been Gwaine’s.

Still.

Having safely left the lower town and made it up four floors up to the knights’ quarters, Merlin had relaxed significantly, thinking of how after dropping Gwaine on his bed he could then go to his and sleep for a few hours before Arthur needed him to carry food and blankets and pillows to the forest. Heavens prevent that Arthur took care of his own wooing after all.

So, there he was, inside Gwaine’s chamber, dragging the knight toward his bed, giggling at the nonsense that was coming out of his drunken mouth when Gwaine straightened suddenly, looked at Merlin with dark, surprisingly aware eyes, and wrapped one hand around his jaw to better bring their mouths together.

By the time Merlin had taken a sharp inhale – smelling ale, sweat, leather, straw, and underneath it all the musky scent that was entirely _Gwaine_ – and realized what was happening, all the sudden awareness that had shot through Gwaine’s body seemingly vanished into the ether and the knight let himself crumble onto him, bringing them both down to the cold stone floor.

After a few seconds spent looking at the ceiling, wondering _what in the dragon’s name had just happened_ , Merlin realized that Gwaine was now snoring heavily into his ear while slowly suffocating him under the full weight of his chainmail-clad body. Merlin then attempted to dislodge the knight, failed, tried to take a breath, attempted again, failed again, then whispered an incantation to roll him off him. Now that he was finally able to take a long breath – and oh boy, wasn’t it nice to have his lungs back –, he got to his feet, looked down at the drunken mess of a knight on the floor, considered leaving him on said floor, and ultimately decided to whisper another incantation to float him gently onto his bed.

So that was that then.

**

Except it wasn’t that, because the next day, once Arthur and Gwen had finally decided to return from their picnic – and wasn’t it so considering of Arthur to send Merlin to fetch firewood even though it was the middle of the day and they had no fire going, just so he could snog Gwen in peace, leaving Merlin to kick pebbles into a stream for hours with nothing to do – and once Merlin had been on his way back to his chamber, dreading the no-doubt long list of chores that Gaius had put aside for him, he had run into Gwaine, fresh as a daisy and with hair somehow even shinier than usual.

“Merlin!” the knight had exclaimed jovially. “Just the man I wanted to talk to.”

“Here I am,” Merlin chuckled, because in spite of his back sore from carrying all the picnic items, his toes bruised from kicking rocks instead of pebbles, and his fingers frostbitten from the cold stream, it was impossible not to smile at Gwaine and his infectious good mood.

“About last night…”

Merlin interrupted him with a small laugh, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you tried to kiss me like a flower girl at the Ostara festival.”

With a surprise snort, Gwaine shared in his laugh. “That’s entirely your right. But really I wanted to apologize for not asking your permission first. I was completely pissed and I forgot how to act like a decent fella. I’m sorry. Forgive me? Pretty please?”

Merlin blinked and smiled quizzically: “Ask my permission?” Then, realizing that he was probably being teased, he teased back: “Why, Gwaine, careful there. It almost sounds like you wanted to kiss me.”

Though Gwaine kept on smiling good-naturedly, he didn’t bark his usual joyful laughter. “Of course, I wanted to. I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you and Arthur start a brawl in that tavern.”

Merlin blinked again, but this time he was done smiling. “What?”

“What?” Gwaine repeated, not smiling anymore either.

“You – You – the tavern? B-But… Wait. This is a joke. Are you joking? Are Percival and Elyan in on this? It sounds like something those two would come up with.”

“Of course not. Merlin, why on earth do you think I even came to your rescue back then?”

In front of his unusually serious gaze, Merlin spluttered: “Why – Why, you said why! You said you saw two men against all of these bandits and that you liked those odds!”

Gwaine shook his head, all dimples and flowing hair: “I liked those odds because they had plush lips, sharp cheekbones and ridiculous ears. Really, Merlin, I’m starting to understand why Arthur thinks you are thick as a cushion.”

Merlin spluttered again, though he didn’t know if it was from the revelation, the flattering description of his face or the insult.

Bouncing on his heels, Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder: “Anyway, I wanted to apologize, that’s all. Next time I’ll do things properly.”

As Merlin watched him walk away, the sun pouring from the windows reflecting on his ridiculously shiny hair, he squeaked: “ _Next time?_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine kissing him didn’t change anything.  
> Really, it didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kind comments! Here is a second and final chapter.

Gwaine kissing him didn’t change anything.

Really, it didn’t.

Every morning, Merlin still woke up at an ungodly hour to bring Arthur his breakfast, he still had to collect and wash his dirty clothes, he still went on to polish his boots and armor and bring him lunch and muck out his stables, and then he still had to draw him his bath, serve him his dinner and put him to bed.

So, really nothing changed.

Except perhaps that now Merlin stayed up at night, only managing to fall asleep at first lights, dreaming about a smooth voice whispering “ _next time_ ” into his ear and sending chills cascading down the length of his spine, then getting out of bed late, and then, in his haste to wake up the king, forgetting his breakfast in the kitchens, which would grow cold by the time he went all over the castle to get it and bring it back to Arthur, thus putting Arthur into the foulest of moods for the rest of the day.

But aside from that, everything was still exactly the same.

Well, almost exactly the same.

So what if he forgot Arthur’s clothes in the wash because he was busy thinking about shiny hair and dark stubble? It only happened twice. And, really, even before that drunken kiss, he often scattered parts of Arthur’s armor all over his room while polishing it, so technically, the two events had no correlation whatsoever. Sure, he had never put Arthur’s freshly polished boots at the bottom of a wheelbarrow full of dirty straw from the stables before, and yes, it was true that, usually, if he let one pot of water over the fire for too long, he made sure that the next would be cold enough for Arthur’s bath to be at a reasonable temperature. But really, those incidents could be linked to any number of reasons, from his lack of sleep, to Arthur being a prat about his bathwater being scorching hot, to being tired from assisting Gaius during his medical visits to the lower town. It didn’t necessarily have to do with dark searching eyes gazing into his own or with warm chapped lips pressing up against his.

So really, everything was fine.

Except that now, when Arthur and the knights were attacked by Morgana’s mercenaries in the middle of what was supposed to be a secret trip to retrieve a rare feather from an even rarer magical bird – which they needed to break the curse that Morgana had put on Camelot’s crops –, well, now, Merlin found himself watching for _two_ red-clad backs in the turmoil of the ambush-turned-battlefield.

Not that Merlin never cared for the other knights before, he always tried to keep an eye on all of them and to shout warnings if anyone tried to attack them from behind. But now, while crouching behind a branch, trying to avoid getting hacked into pieces while _also_ making sure that Arthur wasn’t hacked into pieces, Merlin found his eyes wandering more and more toward a certain knight with flowing hair, who was grinning his way through the fight, shouting taunts at their enemies and making bawdy jokes about Percival’s less than subtle swordsmanship. If grabbing two mercenaries by the neck and smashing their heads together like oversized wooden toys could even be called swordsmanship.

Which was fine, really.

After all, if he hadn’t been watching Gwaine so intently, he might have missed the hidden archer shooting at them from up the hill and he might not have been able to magically deflect one arrow aimed at the knight’s pretty head. So, clearly, it had been for the best.

The only problem, of course, was that while he was busy saving Gwaine’s life, he almost failed to catch the second arrow that had been flying toward Arthur. _Almost_ , being the word that mattered here. He got the arrow. Just not fast enough to redirect it completely. But really, a slight graze on the thigh was still better than a full arrowhead planted there. Plus, it wasn’t even as if Arthur had noticed anything – the prat barely flinched before going back to carving into the mercenaries like they were his breakfast ham. He had stopped the arrow. He had saved Arthur’s ungrateful backside once again. Everything was perfectly fine.

So why did Merlin feel so terribly guilty?

Even after the fight had died down and the last of the mercenaries had run away, even after Arthur had turned his sweaty face toward him and rolled his eyes – “Really, Merlin, don’t bother on our account. Please, do keep cowering behind the trees. Would you like a pillow? Or perhaps a blanket? I hope the sound of that ambush didn’t disturb your nap” –, even after all the knights had laughed with the little breath they still had, even after Gwaine had helped him get back to his feet with a warm chuckle and a careless flip of his lustrous hair, even after all that, it still felt as if he had just swallowed one of Gaius’s sour herb poultices.

So, maybe Gwaine’s kiss did change a few things.

**

“Merlin, in the name of all that is holy in the land, would you stop _fussing_?”

“Just doing my job, your Highness,” Merlin answered briskly from where he was trying to mend the sole of Arthur’s left boot. Of course, it would be much easier if Arthur wasn’t wearing said boot and if he stopped walking away from Merlin, who had to crawl behind him on his hand and knees on the forest floor, needle and thread hanging from his mouth.

“That would be a first,” Arthur muttered before exclaiming once more: “Merlin, I said leave it! It’s fine!”

“No, it’s not! What happens if I leave it and you trip on your own shoe while more of Morgana’s mercenaries attack us on the way back to Camelot? Uh? What happens then?”

Arthur sent him an exasperated look before barking at the knights who had been choking on their own suppressed laughter behind his back: “Don’t you all have something better to do?”

“Not really, no,” Gwaine answered jovially, which made Leon snort. Seeing Arthur’s cheeks growing redder by the minute, the oldest knight grabbed Gwaine by the cloak and dragged him away from them, supposedly to collect more firewood, but most probably to watch them from a safer distance with Percival and Elyan.

Just as Merlin had finally managed to grab Arthur’s foot and was about to start his repairs, Arthur stepped away from him once more.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s gotten into you since that ambush, but it has to stop now. You’re constantly hovering behind me and getting in my way – which almost made me lose that feather, by the way – and you seem to think that the slightest breeze will kill me –”

“It wouldn’t if you just wore the damn scarf,” Merlin muttered, still trying to find the perfect angle where Arthur would be least likely to kick him in the face.

“I’m _not_ wearing a scarf in the middle of spring, Merlin! And my boot is perfectly fine, you can mend it when we get back to Camelot, in the meantime, _stop_ _fussing_!”

“But what about the mercen –”

“There won’t be any mercenaries,” Arthur interrupted him, “because we’re not taking the eastern road back home.”

“We’re not?” Elyan interrupted from where he and the other knights had apparently grown bored with their argument and had started mocking all the stupidities that Gwaine had said since the beginning of their journey instead. It was quite a long list. Merlin should know, he’d been entirely too aware of every single word coming out of the knight’s mouth.

“No, we’re going to cut through the Valley of the Fallen Kings.”

At that, Merlin shot up to his feet, needle and thread forgotten amongst the leaves.

“We’re _what_?”

Now that he was finally off the ground, Arthur smirked victoriously.

“Morgana obviously knows our itinerary, and we can’t waste time going around the hills, so the quickest and safest way back to Camelot is through the valley.”

“No, it’s not! There is nothing safe about that valley, nothing at all! Literally every time we go there, you end up stumbling on a cursed druid burial ground or you’re almost killed by bandits or –”

“Merlin!” Arthur interrupted once more. “I know that there is nothing but air between those two ridiculous ears of yours, but please, try to gather whatever wit you still have left inside you and listen to me: I’m the King and I have decided of our route. My decision is final. I won’t hear anything else on the subject.”

**

“ _I won’t hear anything else on the subject_ ,” Merlin parroted in a high-pitched voice, “you bloody idiot! Dollophead! Clotpole!”

“Merlin,” Arthur wheezed from where he was clenching his side, his breastplate caved in from the mace blow that he had taken. “I’m the King. You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I’ll talk to you as I want, your royal turnip-head! I told you this would happen! I told you!”

Arthur winced as Merlin helped him out of his torn armor. Next to them, huddled around the fire, the knights were tending to their own wounds while eating their meagre dinner, stiffening pained groan around their spoons.

“Actually, you didn’t,” Arthur said, just to be contrary. “I would have remembered if you had told us that a giant troll was waiting for us in the valley.”

Just for that, Merlin let the King drop to the ground unceremoniously and pretended not to hear his sharp inhale as he swallowed a moan.

“You… You… _Toad_!”

“Come on, Merlin, you can do better than that,” Gwaine joked, sending Elyan into a fit of giggles which he immediately regretted, judging from the way he clasped his crudely bandaged shoulder.

Arthur glared at them. “Don’t encourage him,” then, turning his head back toward Merlin: “I’m fine, it’s just a couple of bruised ribs, nothing more.”

“You don’t know that!” Merlin exclaimed, “None of us can know that without Gaius here to examine you! They could be cracked! If they pierce a lung, you could drown in your own blood during the night, and none of us could do anything about it but bring your sorry carcass back to Camelot for a royal burial!”

When Arthur rolled his eyes dismissively, Merlin had to actually refrain himself from using magic to whack him over the head.

“Listen, Merlin, I really don’t thi –”

“No!” He shouted. “ _You_ listen! I don’t slave day after day over you just to have you run toward death every chance you get, you twat! For once in your spoiled life, would it kill you to think about anyone other than yourself?”

The stunned silence that followed his explosion made Merlin realize that he had crossed a line. He could see it in Arthur’s befuddled eyes as he looked up at him, and in the tense attitude of the knights who all suddenly seemed incredibly interested in their plates of stew.

When Arthur opened his mouth, Merlin knew that nothing good would come out of it and he turned his back to gather the empty pot and plates of the knights, ignoring Percival’s attempts to protect his only half-eaten dinner.

“I’ll go do the washing,” he muttered darkly as he left the warm ring of campfire light and walked quickly to the nearby stream, pots and pans banging together in his arms.

A few minutes later, his hands raw from scrubbing in the freezing water and his knees scraped from crouching on the rocky bank, Merlin fell back on his heels and sighed.

He knew his outburst was useless. For all that he complained and pestered, he couldn’t blame Arthur for being the selfless and fearless king that Camelot needed. After all, it was Arthur’s destiny to unite Albion, and Merlin’s destiny to protect him until he did so. Gwaine just didn’t fit in this, and Merlin had to stop getting distracted. It was just one kiss, and it meant far less than the ones he had shared with Will when they were boys, or with Freya in the vaults. He had to stop thinking about the knight and focus on what really mattered.

Just as Merlin gathered his resolve alongside the dishes, he heard a twig snap behind him and turned to see Gwaine approaching the stream with his empty water skin in hand. The knight smiled warmly at him, the sharp edge of his teeth glistening in the moonlight.

“Not interrupting any brooding, am I?”

Merlin shook his head and turned his eyes back down toward the water.

“How mad is he?”

Gwaine snorted and crouched beside him to fill his pouch. “Please, you know how I feel about nobles. It’s good you’re here to knock some sense into our King.”

Merlin chuckled at that and despised the way his stomach seemed to fill with warmth as Gwaine knocked one shoulder against his good-naturedly. This had to stop. It was just one kiss, and it didn’t mean anything. Gwaine was only his friend – his very flirtatious friend – and nothing more. He probably handed out kisses like flowers to every stable boy and kitchen maid who caught his eyes. Merlin had made the right decision by resolving to ignore these budding feelings for Gwaine, and he was going to stand by it.

“Still,” Gwaine said as he sealed his water skin shut and started walking back toward the campfire. “Arthur is a lucky bastard. I don’t know what I wouldn’t give to have you worried about me like that.”

Merlin, who had gotten to his feet to follow the knight, his arms laden with the plates and pots, immediately dropped them all back into the stream with a loud splash.

The cold water that numbed his fingers as he fished them out in the dark did nothing to alleviate his burning cheeks. Nothing at all.

**

Once they had made it back to Camelot safely and Gaius had pronounced Arthur’s ribs bruised, not cracked, Merlin only pretended not see the defiant eyebrow that Arthur raised at him. They didn’t talk, and Merlin unpacked Arthur’s bag, took care of the tasks Gaius hadn’t been able to perform in his absence, drew Arthur’s bath in silence while _not_ thinking about a strong shoulder pressing against his in the dark, served Arthur his dinner still in silence and finally went to bed, once again not thinking about a warm chuckle in his ear.

In the morning, Merlin felt mildly better and he resolved to push aside any feelings he might have toward shiny dark hair and dimpled smiles, and instead decided to focus solely on Arthur. His whole day would be about Arthur, and Arthur’s needs, and nothing else, he asserted to himself as he brought the King his breakfast.

This sound decision flew out the window when he entered the King’s chambers and saw Arthur already out of bed, dressed and fed. In the corner of the sun-lit room, George was wiping away the last of the breakfast crumbs with disturbing concentration.

“What’s happening?” Merlin asked.

“Good morning, Merlin,” Arthur said without looking up from his state papers. “I’m giving you the day off. George will take care of everything today.”

“But I don’t want the day off.”

The only good thing about the way Arthur sighed impatiently and looked up at him, was that Merlin could see that he was still affected about their row, just as much as Merlin was.

“I don’t care about what you want, Merlin. Take the day off. Help Gaius, have a nap, go to the – I can’t believe I’m saying this – go to the tavern. You can resume your duties tomorrow.”

“But –”

“That’s an order,” Arthur pronounced slowly, levelling him with his best ‘I am King, will you just do as you are told?’ glare.

“Fine,” Merlin muttered as he walked toward the door, food still in hand. “But I’m eating your breakfast.”

In the corner, George made a sound similar to that of an offended turkey.

**

So, his plan to distract himself from Gwaine by focusing solely on Arthur was not exactly going as it should, but Merlin was nothing if not determined, and if Arthur didn’t need him, surely Gaius would be grateful to have him helping all day.

“Merlin, if you knock over one more vial, I will personally ask the King to put you in the stocks.”

Apparently not.

“Well, what else do you want me to do? Arthur doesn’t want me around, you don’t want me around, so what can I do?”

Gaius send him a sly glance from the corner of his eye: “The leech tank could use a little cleaning.”

“Never mind,” Merlin answered hastily, “I’ll just go to the lower town.”

“You do that.”

When he elbowed a few more bottles on his way out, sending a cloud of spicy red powder in the air, he didn’t wait around to see Gaius make good on his promise and simply bolted out the door.

Merlin had never been particularly fond of horses, most of all because he didn’t like riding them and he had the disturbing impression that they didn’t like him riding them either. However, after being chased off by both Arthur and Gaius, he realized that his only choices left were to either spend the day in the stables or with Kilgharrah, and strangely enough, he wasn’t sure the dragon would fancy a chat about his new-found attraction for Ser Gwaine.

So, the stables it was.

Or at least, that was the plan, except that on the way there, he ran into none other than the knight himself, who gave him one of his usual sunny smiles.

“Merlin! I wondered where you had gotten to. I saw George waiting on Arthur during the training session this morning. Do you know, that servant is a lot filthier than I gave him credit for. He spent a good twenty minutes telling us about how he had been dying to have another opportunity to sharpen Arthur’s sword.”

Merlin sniffled contemptibly: “Trust me, he wasn’t joking. Polishing and sharpening are literally his favorite activities.”

Gwaine laughed at that, but seeing that Merlin wasn’t joining him, he seemed to take stock of his dark mood.

“What are you brooding for? You got the day off, George is off polishing Arthur’s… whatever. I thought you would be rolling around a field of poppies or whatever it is you like to do when His Highness doesn’t need you.”

Merlin scrunched up his nose, though he could already feel his mood lifting just by looking at Gwaine’s mischievous brown eyes: “Is that what you all think I do on my day off?”

“All I know is that you’re never at the tavern with the rest of us. Come on, let me show you what you’ve been missing on.”

Merlin’s protests died in his throat when Gwaine threw an arm around his shoulders and pressed their sides together to walk him to the lower town and into the tavern. Once seated on a bench, Merlin was still a bit dizzy from the close proximity and the warm scent of Gwaine’s hair tickling his cheek – and why, oh why did that scent remind him so much of the wheat fields basked in sunlight in the summer time back in Ealdor? So maybe he wasn’t in the right state of mind to refuse when Gwaine put two ales in front of them and started chatting easily with other tenants about something or another.

By the time Merlin had drunk his ale and finally cooled his head – and neck, and cheeks, and ears – a little, he finally took notice of what was happening around him. Gwaine was in the middle of a card game – and winning by the looks of it – but he was also listening intently to the other players – three merchants from the southwest, who had come to sell their leather and hides – about encountering bandits on the forest road.

“I’ll talk to the King and we’ll extend the patrol there. Do you know if they were going upstream or closer to the hills?”

By the time the game was finished, Gwaine had won quite a small amount of coins and immediately proceeded to spend them buying more drinks for the merchants who cheered, shook his hand and got up, only to be replaced by Tom the baker – who was looking for an apprenticeship for his youngest brother-in-law, and wouldn’t Gwaine know of any spot available in the castle kitchens? –, then by Jonas the apothecary and his son – who was trying to settle with his family in a small abandoned farm on the edge of the forest of Ascetir, but could Gwaine ask around and see if no one had a better claim to the land? – and countless others who were seemingly in need of Gwaine’s advice. Three ales later, Merlin was finally hit with the realization that Gwaine was _holding court_.

To be fair, it would have taken anyone a bit of time to notice that Gwaine was not simply drinking his weight in beer or playing a game of cards or dice, or exchanging rowdy jokes with the barmaids, but that he was actually intently listening to the problems of whoever talked to him and immediately came up with a solution when he had one, or a promise of getting back to them when he didn’t.

The dimly-lit tavern, with its sticky wooden tables and smell of barley, was certainly a far cry from the elegance of the throne room in Camelot, but Merlin suddenly saw that Gwaine cared as much about the plight of his fellow men as Arthur did his subjects’. There was just a lot more drinking involved in the process.

“Feeling better, Merlin?” the knight whispered in his ear after having exchanged what seemed like an unnecessary amount of manly-claps-in-the back with a visiting smith from Mercia who he had helped find more permanent lodgings in Camelot.

To hide the cascade of chills that started the drip down his spine at the feeling of warm lips so close to his face, Merlin simply nodded and took a large gulp of his third – no fourth – tankard of ale.

“Good man,” Gwaine chuckled before beckoning Lily the barmaid with a flip of his hair that Merlin thought bordered on the obscene. “Now let’s switch you to water before you can’t even stand up straight.”

Merlin wanted to protest that he was perfectly fine, thank you very much, and even if he couldn’t walk, surely Gwaine could grab him by the waist and help him back to his room, but, thankfully, he was prevented from spouting such nonsense by the arrival of Leon, Elyan and Percival who immediately sat with them and ordered a new round of drinks.

Merlin stayed with the knight for a few more hours, sharing in their good laughs and cheerful moods, diligently drinking cup after cup of water while the rest of the knights were trying to catch up with Gwaine. A difficult task considering that Gwaine was famous for never counting the amount of drinks he had – thus resulting in some legendary tabs at taverns around the five kingdoms.

By the time the midnight bell rang, Merlin was now only slightly pink in the cheeks and sober enough to know that he should go to bed and rest before checking to see if he still had a job in the morning. He got up, tried to look for Gwaine who had disappeared somewhere for a game of dice, finally gave up when he was nowhere to be found and said his goodbyes to the rest of the knights – though only Leon answered him from where was throwing pieces of dried meat across the room and inside Elyan’s and Percival’s open mouths, each successful throw being followed by a general holler and drinks being downed in one go.

Shaking his head in amusement, Merlin attempted to make his way through the crowded tavern, avoiding spilled beer and pipe smoke, and would have collided with a busy Lily carrying three full pitchers overflowing with ale if two hands had not grabbed his shoulders at the last second and dragged him to a quiet corner, safe from exasperated barmaids and their snapping comments about him being a clumsy fool.

“Alright there, Merlin?” Gwaine smiled, hands still on Merlin’s shoulders.

“Yes, yes,” Merlin breathed out, his heart thumping loudly into his ears, “just on my way out. Thought I should get some sleep before going back to Arthur tomorrow. That is, if he hasn’t given my job to George yet. Not sure I can rival with someone who goes to sleep every night dreaming of washing clothes and polishing boots.”

His remark didn’t elicit the bark of laughter he expected, and Merlin was surprised to see Gwaine’s – _beautiful_ , his brain supplanted, _gorgeous, dazzling, warm_ – brown eyes soften as the hands he had on Merlin’s shoulders slowly pressed him a few steps backward, until Merlin felt his back resting on the tavern’s wall, right behind a tower of ale barrels which formed a barrier between them and the drunken crowd.

The blood rushing to his ears was now so loud that Merlin didn’t hear Gwaine’s gentle whisper and only saw his lips move ever so slowly. After a few moments of expectant silence, Merlin realized he had been asked a question.

“What?”

The knight huffed fondly: “I said, can I kiss you?”

Considering the indecent amount of time Merlin had kept thinking about Gwaine’s promise of “ _next time_ ”, he really should have been more prepared for this. And yet, after spending countless nights awake, thinking that when the opportunity would come he would be confident and dignified and just the right amount of flirtatious, the only thing that actually came out of his mouth was: “Here?”

He made a sweeping gesture toward the crowded tavern to illustrate his meaning, but Gwaine only shrugged and asserted, full of the self-confidence of a boy who had just been offered a dare: “If you say yes, I can make it work.”

Merlin waited for a couple of beats, still expecting one of the knights to tell him that this was nothing more than an elaborate joke, but when he searched through Gwaine’s – _kind, sparkling, soft, breath-taking_ – eyes, all he could find was tenderness.

“Alright,” he breathed out, along with what seemed to be all the air from his lungs.

Gwaine’s grin was positively radiant and the knight gave him a quick wink before turning toward the tavern and snatching a piece of apple from a nearby plate: “Percy, catch!” he shouted.

Percival whipped his head toward them and, in his haste to position himself to gobble up the food, knocked over at least three people and their drinks behind him. There was one moment of stunned silence before the whole crowd erupted in a drunken brawl, throwing drinks and food and punches left and right in a merry chaos. Elyan was punching away at four patrons who were piling on Percival while Leon was throwing back inebriated men toward Lily who efficiently knocked them out by breaking clay plates over their heads, all the while shouting insults more befitting a sailor than a petite barmaid.

So busy was Merlin laughing that he almost forgot who had caused the brawl in the first place. He was reminded of the fact when Gwaine pressed the warm length of his body against him, one hand curling around the sharp bone of his hip while the other came to rest on the wall next to his head. Merlin’s laughter caught in his throat, along with his breath, and he was left immobile and paralyzed as Gwaine’s face inched toward his, his warm breath ghosting over Merlin’s lips.

“Still yes?” The knight asked, so softly that, had his lips not already been brushing Merlin’s, he wouldn’t have been heard above the racket of the tavern.

 _Yes, yes, yes, oh god, yes, yes, yes, please_ , Merlin wanted to say but, still breathless and voiceless, all he could do was nod while his gaze kept fluttering between the dark pools of Gwaine’s eyes and the plump, rosy colour of his lips.

When they kissed, it was soft and tender, and Gwained tasted of barley beer and apple, and silky strands of his hair kept brushing against Merlin’s cheeks while his stubble tickled his chin and upper lip. When the knight brushed his tongue against Merlin’s parted mouth, it was agonizingly slow and delicate, far from anything he would have expected from brash, cheeky, grinning, mischievous Gwaine. And yet, it also suited the knight perfectly – for no one had ever made Merlin feel safer or more comfortable than caring, friendly, loving, compassionate Gwaine.

They kissed for what could have been a few seconds or a few hours, until Percival sent a drunken man tumble into the barrels that sheltered them, forcing them out of their hiding place. Though Gwaine took a step back, he kept one hand on Merlin’s hip, his thumb brushing back and forth over a small patch of skin just below his shirt.

“Next time, I’ll ask you somewhere more private,” Gwaine said and he patted his hip one last time before leaving him to assist Leon who was brandishing a wooden stool as a sword behind the bar, Lily waving an iron ladle next to him.

Merlin watched him disappear with a wink and a flip of his hair, before whispering to himself, like a secret: “ _Next time_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might give this fic a sequel, perhaps with a more mature rating. Feel free to tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Though I have a pretty strong grasp of English, it is not my first language, so if you see any mistake, don't hesitate to point it out!


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